


La Taxista

by bazaar



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Based on a song, F/F, Taxi Driver AU?, commission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-11 00:37:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12311175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bazaar/pseuds/bazaar
Summary: Eran las dies de la noche.The night was long, that much Korra knew. More than enough time for another mistake.





	La Taxista

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sterlinglass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sterlinglass/gifts).



> My first commission! I'd like to give a _massive_ thanks the wonderful Perpetual159 for requesting this, and for re-introducing me to an artist I haven't heard in years!
> 
> This is based on the song [_Historia de Taxi_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-apU2sviHCM) by Ricardo Arjona, and if you speak Spanish and know it, then you'll also know that it's kinda based on cheating, so if you don't like reading about that, then this might not be the story for you.

There was a mattress in the road.

After she’d swerved around it like a maniac, she remembered to count her lucky stars. Spirits knew that nine and a half times out of ten, she would have been speeding. It seemed, however, that not _everything_ was destined to go wrong that night.

Just the normal disasters: the late shift, a lack of milk and eggs, no time for grocery shopping, and an asshole for a boyfriend.

Coincidentally, the last item on that list was the reason she’d started banging on the dashboard. That and the mattress, of course, but the latter was more of a catalyst for her anger. A lot of things were. She didn’t have to focus hard to feel the vitriol in her veins, pressing hard at the back of her throat. Being in a rolling metal box leant itself to her rages. In the confines of her beat-up 168-AG Satomobile, she could yell her throat raw and rip at the already damaged upholstery. The _driving_ part, however, benefited less from the anger. The _customer_ part didn’t benefit at all.

On the other hand, Korra could forget about her problems at home on the dimly lit streets of Republic City. She could pick up tipsy late-nighters and talk to them about their lives or laugh to herself when alcohol gave way to incoherence. The fine line between said incoherence and further ruining her ripped upholstery, however, was less funny.

That night was slow. Disaster upon disaster, and no one to talk to.

Once she’d bruised the side of her fist, she instead set to gripping the wheel, scanning the sidewalks for someone— _anyone_ to pick up.

Her watch read a quarter to ten. She’d have to clock out before long, and the idea of going home empty-handed to a man she could barely stand earned the dashboard one more satisfying whack.

“Come _on_ ,” she growled at the near-empty streets. The Dragon Flats Borough was exactly the kind of place to find customers, but no hands shot out for her in the gloom, and she fought the urge to jam her foot into the gas pedal in frustration.

A couple stumbled across the street together, a homeless man staggering to avoid a gutter. She came to a stop light just in time to watch a bouncer shove a couple of young men out of a bar she’d often found customers in front of. Not that night, it seemed.

She could feel her eyes glaze over, staring miserably at the red light overhead. It flickered green, and she blinked hard at the change and the street ahead, almost missing the yelling from the sidewalk.

“ _Taxi!_ ”

She startled, reflexively pulling over towards the sound and a flash of glittering fabric that disappeared around the side of her car. Thank the _spirits_.

The back door swung open, and Korra watched through the rearview mirror as a pair of long, bare legs slid into the backseat. She cleared her throat, angling the mirror up to see the rest of the woman. Her face. The rest of the woman’s… face. Korra couldn’t see it then, just a curtain of jet black hair as she situated herself.

“Where to?”

“Future Industries Tower,” she said, head still angled down. Her voice wavered when she spoke again, “I’ll pay extra.”

“No need,” Korra replied, “it’s in my area.” It wasn’t. It was on the other side of the city, but the woman’s voice was small and thick with emotion and Korra felt a sudden, overwhelming need to comfort.

At her response, the woman looked up, meeting Korra’s eyes in the rearview, and for a long moment, Korra couldn’t figure out if the grinding noise was the gearshift or the gears in her head, failing to operate.

“Are… are you holding the clutch?”

Both, apparently.

Korra blinked. “Oh, uh. Sorry,”— _moron—_ she huffed nervously, “I promise I’m an actual taxi driver.” She made it a point not to look back again, those bright green eyes still burned into recent memory and _obviously_ not helping her do her job.

The car shifted smoothly once she’d remembered how to drive it and she pulled into the street, glancing in the mirror again. Only once she did, she caught another glimpse of shimmering silver fabric and smooth legs and red-rimmed eyes and she tore her gaze away with difficulty. She’d picked up hundreds of people in the time she’d been driving, but never— _never_ before had someone _that_ breathtaking sat in the backseat of her cab.

“Any stops before the Tower?”

“No, thank you,” she replied with a voice that lit a little flame in Korra’s chest. She tried to focus on the road, but when the woman spoke again, she found her eyes drawn back to those long legs. She adjusted the broken mirror again. “No hurry though.”

The comment sounded defeated, bitter. Korra was proud of herself when she responded—eyes glued only to the road. “I, um… it’s none of my business, but are you all right?” She cursed herself in the following pause. “Sorry. Not to pry. I just… was wondering.”

It was another long moment before the woman sighed, and it was one of those heavy, weary ones Korra could sympathize with. “I got stood up,” Korra glanced in the rearview mirror just in time to catch a thoughtful frown play over red lips as her eyes searched the cab’s interior for her next words. “Or rather… what would you call it if you saw a guy you’d planned a second date with making out with another guy in the bar you were supposed to be meeting at?”

“ _Yikes_."

The woman huffed a laugh. “That sounds about right.”

Korra thought for a moment. Sometimes, she felt more like a bartender than a cab driver, offering advice to the lost souls that wandered Republic City at night. She sympathized with most of them, and this woman’s plight was something she was all too familiar with. “Look,” she began, settling on her statement, “the way I see it, anyone can do better than a cheater.” _Maybe you should listen to your own advice_.

She hummed thoughtfully at this, accepting the tip. Korra was glad. Often times, her over-familiarity got her into… _problems_. “I won’t argue with you…?”

“Korra,” she replied to the prompt, “A Real Taxi Driver.”

“You’re doing a whole lot better now, Miss Real Taxi Driver,” she laughed, and Korra checked the mirror just in time to watch one long leg slide effortlessly over the other. She had to swallow hard and refocus her attention, because the woman was speaking again. “I’m Asami,” she said, “Not a Real Taxi Driver.”

Korra gripped the steering wheel, trying to shove her mind back into gear as she downshifted at a yellow light. As instructed, she was in no hurry to reach the Tower, and she figured she wouldn’t have been anyway. Not with a woman like Asami in her backseat. There was something _magnetic_ about her. Her legs, long and bare under the glittery fabric of her short skirt, her deep red lips, her piercing green eyes—but there was something else. Something that Korra grew more and more aware of as they spoke.

“Do you mind?” Asami asked, and Korra glanced in the mirror, noticing the cigarette she held to her lips. “Bad night.”

“Not at all,” she said, coming to another stop. She fished around in her pocket, pulling her old lighter free and turning to offer the flame. “Here—“ At once, she realized that the mirror was no longer between her view of Asami, and the other woman’s face was close, light skin illuminated by the flame. She didn’t realize that her hand was shaking until Asami’s came up to hold it gently, drawing from her cigarette as she watched the tip burn red.

Asami leant back in her seat, and in the haze of Korra’s mind, she realized that being twisted around like she was was rather unhelpful. She turned back to the road, still feeling the prickle of contact where Asami had placed her hand. It was worrying, but only in the way that reminded her that the woman had been in her backseat for less than an hour.

“Not a firebender, then?”

“Water,” she replied, clearing her throat, “you?”

When she didn’t hear a response, she glanced into the rearview again to catch a soft smile and a shake of her head. Asami took a long, thoughtful drag on her cigarette before responding, “Nothing. When I was little I thought it’d be nice, but…” she trailed off, and Korra could catch her meaning, even without the personal experience.

“I’m useful when my toilet’s clogged, but that’s about it.”

At the next red light, Korra found herself with the golden opportunity to ruminate on just how _stupid_ the joke was. She glanced again at the mirror, and even though she’d been catching those green eyes since Asami had stepped foot in her taxi, she almost started when she saw them looking right at her through the haze. Glittering, piercing—Korra thought of a million words to describe them, but couldn’t settle on a single one—especially not when Asami began to laugh.

She laughed and she laughed and she kept laughing and Korra wondered if it was out of pity because it hadn’t even been that _funny_ , but when Asami spoke again, she sounded out of breath and exactly like someone who’d been, well, _actually laughing_.

“I’ve never… you know, I’ve never thought about it that way. But who needs a waterbender around when you own a plunger?”

Korra couldn’t have stopped the grin that creeped across her face if she had tried. “My entire existence. Replaced by a plunger. Jeez Asami, I know I’m just your taxi driver, but you could be a _little_ more considerate, huh?”

“Sorry, sorry. I was just a little taken aback by the talking plunger. You understand, don’t you?”

“Not really. I’ve been a talking plunger all my life, apparently. This,” she gestured at herself with her free hand, “is my normal.”

After a beat of silence, they both broke into peals of laughter. Korra had to remind herself several times to stay on the road, but _spirits_ , it was nice to laugh. Between long hours and her home life, anger had become _her normal_.

Once they’d recovered, she heard the telltale sound of her back window being cranked open. “I don’t want to offend any further, but this is a remarkable amount of wear and tear on a model that’s only seven years old.”

“Well,” Korra began, unsure of how to explain that the dent in the hood was from her fist and the taped and broken window was… also her fist, and that ninety percent of the her car’s problems were self-inflicted. But she had a cover story for all of it. “When you work nights in Dragon Flats, you get a lot of… issues.” Asami hummed in understanding. “You get a lot of perks, too. People are a lot more down-to-earth around here. Friendlier. There’s a guy—“ Korra chuckled at the memory of her frequent customer, “—I let it slip _once_ that I was a big fan of shochu, and since then, he brings me a little bottle every time I pick him up.”

She popped open her glove box, and heard Asami’s little gasp of surprise. The amount of alcohol in there often procured exactly that response.

“I don’t drink it on the job, of course,” Korra said quickly, closing the compartment, “but you’re welcome to take a few bottles if you want.”

Korra checked the rearview again at another light, watching as Asami flicked her finished cigarette out of the window. “Funny you should mention it—shochu just happens to be my drink of choice,” When Korra reached back for the glove box, she felt one of those light hands on her forearm and was wholly unprepared for the jolt of electricity it sent across her skin. “I have _more_ than enough at home, but thank you.”

The smile she tossed back probably looked uneasy, but when Asami drew her hand away again, the sensation was all Korra could focus on. And it seemed that her unease had bled into the mood in the cab, because Asami resigned herself to the silence of the backseat, and Korra kept her eyes on the road, fighting a losing battle with herself.

It wasn’t that she’d forgotten about her boyfriend at home. It was that with each meeting of green and blue through the broken rearview mirror, Korra could feel something stirring—something she’d felt hot and bright when she’d first met the man she lived with. The man she’d supported and cared for. The man she couldn’t stand to look at anymore. The man who’d betrayed her trust time and time again.

Asami, for the short time she’d been sitting in her backseat, was none of the things that awaited her at home. She was bright, she was beautiful, and Korra would have been lying to herself if she’d denied the raging attraction that had exploded with her few gentle touches. Maybe she was just desperate. Desperate for attention like this—positive, lighthearted, _fun._ Maybe she was so starved of joy that she’d jump at any amount of positivity offered to her.

So she realized at the next red light that she was terrified. Not because of the lack of joy in her life. _That_ she’d realized long before.

She checked the rearview again, fleetingly. Asami caught her eyes, and she smiled.

No, the scary part was that she wasn’t so sure that she _wouldn’t_ act on what she felt, given the opportunity.

“Korra?”

“Hm?”

“This may be… well, I think it _is_ presumptuous of me, but…” Korra checked the mirror, but Asami’s eyes were cast off, looking out of the window. “I have a very expensive bottle of shochu that I haven’t had the chance to open yet. I’d… I’d love to share it with someone who appreciates good spirits as much as I do.”

And there was the opportunity.

For the briefest moment, Korra thought about the consequences. She tried to draw out enough guilt for her to turn down the offer, but when angry golden eyes and a scowl gave way to that hopeful look in the mirror, she was already changing their course.

 

* * *

 

Korra felt out of place.

Never in her life had she seen a house like Asami’s. And she _did_ have to hesitate to call it a house, because _mansion_ was a more apt description.

“Just pull around the side,” Asami said, a hand on Korra’s shoulder as she pointed to the massive garage doors that could have easily housed an airship. Or two. “I have a feeling you won’t mind if my valet isn’t here.”

Korra blinked, trying to focus with both the shock of the estate before her and the feeling of Asami’s hand on her shoulder. “I’ll… make do.”

Asami chuckled—a breathy, soft one that made Korra’s hand slip on the gearshift as she yanked it into park.

“Your gear synchronizers are worn out.”

“Wha—my _what?_ ”

Asami put her other hand on Korra’s where it sat on her gearshift. “That’s why it’s making that grinding noise. You said the wear and tear was from your customers, but…” She felt Asami squeeze her shoulder before sliding away completely to exit the cab. “That’s all user error.”

Korra caught the sly smirk before Asami had left, and had to take a short moment to collect her thoughts before following.

“I’m sure you’re right. And uh… the other damages aren’t _all_ customer-inflicted, either.”

Asami turned back to her, eyebrows raised. “Oh?”

It was clearly a prompt for her to elaborate, but between the fact that she could now see Asami fully, and not through a mirror, and that she was more than a little ashamed of just how the dents and dings had gotten there, she gave a sheepish smile.

“…let’s get to the shochu first.”

Asami offered her an understanding look as they stepped into the mansion proper. And Korra really tried to keep her jaw hinged, but it dropped instantly into the ground at the first sight of the inside of the mansion.

“This way,” Asami guided, her voice snapping Korra out of her stupor. “I can give you a tour if you’d like.”

“I have a feeling we might be here a week if we tour this place,” Korra said, dumbfounded.

Following Asami down the hallway, she could see ornate decorations that _screamed_ high class. Not that she would have known, anyway. Her one-bedroom one-bathroom apartment in the suburbs bore zero resemblance to anything in Asami’s sprawling mansion. Except maybe the antique vase that sat on her dinner table. She had picked it up at a garage sale, though, so its authenticity was in question. Besides, she only used it for spare change and paperclips.

When they finally stopped, Asami turned on the lights to reveal a much cozier den, complete with a plush leather sofa and an armchair and a fully-stocked bar. “Sit wherever you’d like,” Asami said, and Korra was pulled from her observations to the woman in the middle of the room. In the soft amber light, her dress sparkled like the night sky. “I’ll get our drinks.”

Korra took the couch and the opportunity to drink in her surroundings. Everything looked pristine—from the delicate dark wood side tables to the Si Wong rug under her feet—but it didn’t look lived in.

“You don’t have people over much,” It was an observation and a statement, but Korra knew that it might have come across brash or rude. She _was_ known to be both. “Not—that that’s a bad thing.”

“No, you’re right,” Asami’s voice came in reply, close behind her. Over her shoulder, a crystal tumbler appeared, full of clear alcohol and ice. Korra took it and turned to watch Asami round the couch to sit. “I work more than I socialize. I get the feeling you relate.”

Korra huffed, bemused. “You get the right feeling.”

Asami’s painted red lips curled around her own glass as she took a drink. Korra did her best not to watch her throat bob as she swallowed, but it was too late for her and many of her higher brain functions. She took a draw from her own glass in a lame attempt to cover up her staring, but she knew Asami had noticed. She could also tell that Asami hadn’t cared, and _that_ was a much more dangerous observation.

“Mm,” Korra hummed, tasting the drink over her embarrassment, “This is incredible. It’s so…”

“Delicate? Smooth?”

Korra nodded, taking another sip. “ _Wow_. I’ve got to say, I’m kind of honored. Alcohol like this wasted on a taxi driver.”

“Not wasted,” Asami insisted, and when Korra looked back at her, she was almost taken aback by the intensity in her eyes. “Not wasted at all.” Before the statement could turn Korra sheepish, Asami was already starting on another line of conversation, but not before she’d crossed one long leg over the other, leaning back into the couch so she could angle herself better. “So tell me; how does a seven-year-old Satomobile have _that_ kind of wear and tear on it?”

Korra almost snorted into her drink. “Well, before I tell you, I’ll have to give you a disclaimer,” Korra said, and Asami gestured with her hand for her to continue. “I’m working on it.”

“…you’re working on it?”

“Yeah, that’s the disclaimer,” She took another draw from her glass— _damn_ , it _was_ incredible—before continuing, “I get mad. Sometimes.” Asami frowned a little, and Korra felt a sharp jolt of panic run through her. “I… I’ve always been hotheaded. Sometimes I don’t think when I get mad and I hit my car.”

For a long, terrifying moment, Asami just watched, eyes narrowed. Korra clutched her glass tight, wondering if she could remember the way out if Asami decided then that taking a strange, angry, _stupid_ cab driver home in the middle of the night was probably _not_ the best idea.

“Me too.”

Korra almost dropped her drink. “You… hit your car?”

Asami laughed that light, breathy laugh again, and all the tension melted out of Korra’s body. “When I’m working on one of them, sure. Aside from that—I get mad sometimes too. I channel it… differently, but hitting things certainly helps.”

 _Oh, thank the spirits_. But also—“I have like, ten questions about what you just said.”

With a flourish of her hand, Asami smiled. “Go ahead.”

“Okay, first, ‘ _one of them’_?”

Asami nodded sagely. “I have many.”

“How many is ‘many’?”

“… _many_.”

Well. That settled that. “Second question, then. You said you worked on them?”

Again, Asami nodded. “I build them. I could fix your transmission, if you’re asking.”

“I… wasn’t. But I think I am now,” Korra said thoughtfully, “could you give me an estimate?”

While sipping from her drink, Asami waved her off. “Consider it a thank you for your wonderful company.”

As smooth as the last sip of her drink was, Korra swallowed hard at the compliment. She smiled, praying she didn’t look as unsteady as she felt, but it had been a long time since anyone had considered her company “wonderful,” and even when Asami spoke again, the words were still rolling around in her head.

“More?”

Korra looked down at her empty glass, nodding. Before she could hand it to her, Asami had leant in to take it, her hand covering Korra’s briefly. She smiled as she rose again with both glasses, but Korra was dumbfounded. What was it about this woman’s touch? Was it just the fact that she was gorgeous? Was it the fact that she was in this near-stranger’s house and even with the short lapses of silence and the quickening of her heartbeat, she suddenly felt right at home? Was it the fact that this woman was practically _dripping_ sex appeal, and Korra hadn’t experienced _that_ in ages?

Whatever the reason, or reasons, when Asami gave Korra her refilled glass, sitting close enough to where those long legs just barely brushed Korra’s—Korra realized that her conflictions were fading even faster.

She turned so she could angle her own body towards Asami, and the appreciative gaze she earned told her that it’d been the right move.

“I’ve got to ask,” Korra began, “you say you don’t have much company. Why’d you invite me?”

Korra knew that she was fishing—she _knew_. And it seemed that Asami did too, because after a sip of her drink, she smirked. “You made me laugh.”

“That’s all?”

“Well that and a couple of other reasons,” Asami said with a breathy laugh, “but I’d say that was the big one.”

Her eyes were intense, dark, and Korra felt the press of that bare leg a little firmer on her own. The attraction built—she could feel it everywhere, and even more intense when Asami touched her again. A gentle one—her lighter hand on the one Korra had thrown over the side of the couch. Korra let her pull it between them, turning it so the side was facing up. Even with her darker complexion, it was easy to see where her skin had taken damage from her anger.

“I noticed it when you gave me a light,” Asami breathed, and Korra clenched her jaw as gentle fingers ghosted over the forming bruise. “Seeing it reminded me of something.”

“What?”

“Passion,” Asami said, and it was matter-of-fact, like she’d thought of it often enough to rob the word of some of its meaning. “Where I work, there isn’t any. It’s… I think it’s nice to see that apathy isn’t _everywhere._ ”

“Not a fan of your job?” It was a wonder that she’d managed those few words with the tender way Asami had taken her hand.

Asami shook her head. “I love my job. My… _coworkers_ I’m less fond of.” She said the words like they had a darker meaning, but Korra decided not to press, instead turning her hand so she could rest it on top of Asami’s lighter one. Asami sighed, “I’m sorry. You don’t need to hear my complaints.”

“Look, I haven’t known you long, Asami,” Korra began, trying for reassuring, “but if talking things over helps to remind you of the good things—I’m all ears. I know what it’s like to feel… _jaded_ , I guess.”

When Asami met her eyes, Korra felt as if she’d been struck down. They’d been in each other’s company for a matter of hours, but Korra knew that she needed more. More time, more conversation, more _everything._ The way Asami looked at her in that moment, like Korra had tossed her a lifeline, a friendly face in a sea of apathetic ones—she knew she’d reached the point of no return.

She watched the slow bob of Asami’s throat, the subtle parting of her painted lips, felt the squeeze of her hand, the warmth of her body.

She’d known what was coming the moment she’d caught those bright green eyes in the rearview mirror, but even though she’d anticipated it, nothing could have prepared her for the way Asami kissed her.

It was tentative, like Asami was gauging the reaction, but Korra felt the fire right underneath that trepidation. Her lips were soft, waxy with lipstick, and pressed with such a gentle insistence, Korra felt as if it was the first time she’d ever been kissed. This woman, this near-stranger, stoked something in her she couldn’t begin to explain, and the way her hand came to cup Korra’s jaw made sure that she wouldn’t be thinking well enough to _try_.

Korra pressed back, and that acceptance was all it took. Without parting, she felt Asami’s hand on the glass she’d forgotten she’d been holding, and once it was out of her way, Korra set her hands on the hips she’d watched sway with such rapt attention.

Asami was all eagerness, and although the way she’d cupped Korra’s face in her hands was comfort and care, Korra couldn’t help the way her hands trembled where they rested against Asami’s waist. She was nervous, and those nerves were exacerbated by the fact that she was more excited than she could ever remember being with another person. Asami’s fingers in her hair and her lips sliding open and warm against Korra’s robbed her of breath, and if she’d been paying more attention, the whimper that caught in her throat would have sounded downright pathetic.

“Is this okay?” Asami breathed against her lips, drawing her in for another searing kiss before she had the opportunity to answer verbally.

She settled for a hum of affirmation instead, pulling her hips closer and all but moaning as Asami swung one of those mile-long legs over her hips, straddling her. The movement had to have hiked her dress up, and with Asami’s lips sliding against hers, and her body heat pressed close, Korra might have mourned not having the presence of mind to indulge in feeling that smooth skin immediately. But she couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything other than the blinding excitement rushing from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes, thrumming low and hot at her core.

Every inch of Asami called to her—pulled at something that, in the heat of the moment, Korra couldn’t find the time to wonder at. She just followed it, gripping at rolling hips when lips pressed against her neck, letting her hands be guided down against the skin she’d marveled at in the rearview mirror; Korra felt as if she was simultaneously more focused than she’d ever been and on cruise control. Heat lit up every nerve in her body, and the urgency with which Asami gripped at her arms and her shoulders, it was if she was _needed_.

That feeling, that _want_ so evident in Asami’s movements, was like a vice grip, but one that Korra wanted to wrap herself up in. One that she never wanted to pull away from.

Asami’s fingers carded through her hair, kissing the breath from her lungs, pulling the cord between them tighter and tighter, and all it took was the breathy moan she sighed against Korra’s lips for that cord to snap. The break blossomed out from her chest, and in a complete loss of restraint and thought, Korra’s hands were all the smooth skin of her legs. She’d wanted to ask for permission, wanted to make sure that comfort was prioritized, but the way Asami responded to the touch—with a hard press of her hips and a hand splayed across Korra’s collarbone—was all the acceptance she could have asked for.

The hand against her collarbone began working at the buttons of her shirt, and with every inch of skin Asami uncovered, her hands pressed, skimmed the sensitive skin of her sides and her hips—it seemed as if the other woman couldn’t pull herself away for a second. _Never_ in her life had Korra felt such a dramatic rush of _want_. It was like quicksand, pulling her deeper and deeper and she’d more than accepted her fate. It felt like the right decision, it felt like a triumph, and when Asami had wrested them both out of their tops, the press of heated skin and the slow roll of those now-bare hips sent her mind reeling in every direction.

Her skin was just as hot and as smooth as Korra had imagined, and the lean muscles of Asami’s back rolled beneath her fingers as surprisingly rough hands found their way across Korra’s abdomen. She hissed at the contact, and in turn was dragged into another kiss, more feverish than the last.

“What do you like?” Asami hummed against her lips, pulling herself back just long enough for the words.

“Everything you’re doing,” Korra responded, surprising herself with her coherency.

And it was the truth. The way Asami kissed and touched and moved—it drove Korra insane in a way she’d never known existed. She didn’t have time to be in awe of it, because her mind went hazy with desire—her body leading the way through miles and miles of pleasure and comfort and care. When she floated back down to herself, laying sprawled out and naked on that Si Wong rug she’d noticed before, Asami was falling apart above her and Korra was drinking in every second of it.

Asami collapsed over her, draping her entire body over Korra’s. Korra was then so warm and comfortable and wonderfully spent that Asami’s own afterglow matched perfectly with hers, every slowing breath against Korra’s neck relaxing her further and further.

She traced her free hand down Asami’s back, soothing with gentle care and appreciation. It was so rare that Korra had experienced this level of calm, and after all that they’d done—it was really no wonder.

Asami hummed against her neck. “Thank you,” she drawled, and Korra couldn’t help but grin, hearing the lazy smile in her voice.

“Thank _you_. I’ll be honest, this was even better than the shochu.”

“I’m _shocked_ that you think so,” Asami huffed, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of Korra’s jaw. “It’s _very_ expensive.”

Korra laughed, freeing her other hand and wrapping her arms securely around Asami so she wouldn’t move. Not yet, at least.

They spoke there, wrapped up in each other on the floor. Korra felt as if she’d broken away from reality—all her anxieties and stresses, her job and her home life. She wondered as they dressed long after, if the decision had been wrong at all, seeing as her conscience felt clear. _That_ thought made her uncomfortable, however. And although she hadn’t known Asami long, it seemed that the other woman picked up easily on her demeanor because she hadn’t realized that she’d gone silent until Asami asked if she was okay.

She promised that she was, and, scarily enough, it wasn’t a lie. She felt more contemplative than worried, and even when they were on the road again—this time in a roadster Asami had chosen out of a massive lineup—Korra still felt fine.

It didn’t mean she wasn’t thinking of what she’d done. She knew, inherently, that her actions were wrong, that she’d made a moral misstep and that the relationship she’d dreaded _anyway_ was now in jeopardy. But it had been before, hadn’t it? Wasn’t she just taking an eye for an eye?

But her boyfriend, _Mako_ , wasn’t the only casualty in her ethical oversight. The woman beside her, smiling and singing along with the radio—Asami would be hurt by her actions too. It was strange to know that she was more worried about the feelings of a woman she’d met only hours before than the feelings of a man she’d been with for years. Dread seeped into the pit of her stomach, and when they came to the door of the bar she’d often frequented for customers, Asami asked again. Not pressing, not demanding, just a question.

“Are you okay?”

And Korra met her eyes and noticed the worry there, but also the care and the tenderness. Asami didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve to get dragged under the weight of Korra’s conscience. She didn’t deserve to take the blows Korra had voluntarily inflicted on herself. She wasn’t the dashboard of her cab, she was a human being. Then again, so was Mako.

Watching Asami then, trying to conjure up the right words to say, the right way to explain that she was trash and that Asami should get out before it was too late—the words all died in her throat, and she turned away for a moment, hoping that the small distance would give her the courage to divulge her mistakes. But when she turned, her gaze settling instead inside the bar they stood in front of—she saw something that changed everything and nothing at the same time.

There, on the stools near the front, was the man she’d just betrayed, betraying her in turn. Mako sat at the counter, wrapped up in the arms of a man she’d never seen before, a man who, in that moment, completely reinforced the end to their relationship.

“Oh no,” Asami huffed, her voice snapping Korra out of her stupor. “That’s him.”

“Huh?” Korra grunted, her voice rough, her thoughts scrambled in ever direction.

“My _date.”_

Korra blinked. Hard. “Which one?”

“On the left,” she grumbled, angling her head at the taller man Mako was locking lips with.

She felt like she’d been punched in the gut. It seemed like cruel, divine coincidence, or maybe like a trick the spirits were playing on her, but then Asami took her hand, urging them to leave, and Korra’s words caught up to her.

“The other one is my boyfriend,” she blurted. _Was my boyfriend,_ she thought after, but didn’t add it.

Asami stopped, halfway back to her car. She turned to Korra, letting their hands fall apart. There was a moment in which she only stared, giving Korra’s stomach ample time to drop into her feet. When she thought about it after, Korra knew that it would have hurt so much more to hear her say something, but all Asami did give her a curt nod and walk away. And Korra couldn’t follow her, she couldn’t explain it away—she _knew_ she couldn’t. She’d fucked up, and not only ruined her _previous_ relationship, but any hopes of a future with Asami, too.

She watched the roadster disappear down the street, taking a sharp turn at the corner before it vanished completely.

 

* * *

 

There was a couch in the road.

Korra didn’t have the energy to be angry. She didn’t have the energy for much of anything. Mornings always came after a short, fitful, lonely sleep. Days were work for one half of her expenses. Nights were work for the other.

She didn’t care for her job—either of them. The drunkards and party-goers were just cargo to her. She never spoke beyond the first thirty seconds, never looked their way, never got involved in their lives.

She was lonely, and she knew she deserved it.

It was almost as if she’d marooned herself on her own personal island of misery, less than content to send out beacons for help and refuse it when it came. Friendly conversation starters went unnoticed, claps on the back and words of thanks unheeded. She wasn’t sure if she wanted them to stay or leave, just that she couldn’t speak either way.

Her words had gotten her in trouble. Her actions even more so.

Even still, riding the streets of Republic City at night, more of a husk than a human, there was a little flicker of hope that one day she’d see those green eyes and those long legs slide into her rearview again.

 _It was just one night_ , she told herself again and again, awake and alone in bed. _But you fucked it up anyway,_ she’d continue to herself, _because you’re a piece of shit_.

She’d apologized to Mako when she’d told him the truth. There was no anger anymore, just resignation. She knew what he’d wanted, and it hadn’t been her. He’d been understanding. He’d known what she’d wanted, and it hadn’t been him. When he’d moved out, it had been as if a weight had been subsequently lifted and dropped on her shoulders. She’d never realized that she needed company until she had none to come home to. Her cab had appeared at her apartment two days after that. No note, no message, but the gears had stopped grinding.

So she worked. As often as she could, as many hours, until she could barely keep her eyes open.

_“Taxi!”_

She pulled over, bleary-eyed, and straightened herself so as to not worry her customer. It seemed she’d trained herself to operate on very little sleep.

The door opened and closed, and she pulled away from the curb. “Where to?”

“Already forgotten how to get there? It’s only been two weeks.”

Korra slammed on the brakes, more of a reflex than a deliberate action. Instead of using the rearview, she whirled around in her seat.

“ _Asami?_ ”

And there she was. For a long moment, all Korra could do was stare. She’d fantasized about seeing the other woman again with such frequency it felt both like a dream and entirely too real at the same time. Asami was there, in the backseat of her cab, real and breathing and looking as wonderful as she had—

“Korra, you’re holding up traffic.”

 _Shit._ “Sorry. Sorry.” She turned back, stepping on the gas, but for the life of her she couldn’t manage to look away from the rearview. When her words finally came, her voice was rough with disuse and no small amount of disbelief. “Why are you… I thought I’d—“

“Screwed up? I guess you did,” Asami interrupted, straight to the point. “But I did too. I didn’t give you a chance to explain.”

She stopped at a red light, watching Asami’s expression in the mirror. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I should have told you beforehand, I just… I don’t know.”

Asami made a thoughtful noise. “I think you do know,” she said, catching Korra’s eyes again. “I think I know too. It just needed a little time to think.”

They were silent then, Korra’s brain struggling to process the information. It wasn’t helping that she hadn’t slept well in weeks. “I’m sorry, Asami,” was all she could manage.

“We’d only known each other a night, Korra. You didn’t owe me anything.”

“I _owed_ you a little human decency,” Korra pressed, feeling emotion rise high in her chest. “And we were strangers, sure, but…”

She felt Asami’s hand on her shoulder. Firm. Comforting. “But there was a connection. You don’t find that every day, Korra.”

Although it was amazing to feel the warmth of Asami’s hand, Korra rounded a corner with much the same anger she felt towards herself, frowning when she spoke again. “That doesn’t excuse the fact that I didn’t say anything.”

Asami let out a deep breath. “Let’s start over. I don’t think it’s too late.”

The hand on her shoulder squeezed, and with that movement, Korra felt all the tension seep from her body. She stopped the cab, turning to look at the woman who, in only a night, had effectively changed her life. Asami smiled at her, a wide, open one that promised something more, something that Korra knew she would work for if given the opportunity.

“Hi, I’m Asami," she began, her smile warm, "Not a Real Taxi Driver.”

There was the opportunity. This time, she had no qualms about taking it.

**Author's Note:**

> Check me out on [tumblr](https://bazaarwords.tumblr.com/), too.


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